


Safe

by Harley_N_Joker



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Anyways, Gen, also the Hunter has no name, and Alfred being a good friend, and the cannibalism fantasy...it's Blodborne..., and the gore, cause I couldn't decide, horrible, it's all over the place, like my first experience with this, magnificent game, sorta - Freeform, the one with:, the panic attack, while keeping personal boundaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 20:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16047650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harley_N_Joker/pseuds/Harley_N_Joker
Summary: A short snippet about how the Hunter is dealing with his situation (spoiler: not very well) and Alfred being a good friend...by Bloodborne standards





	Safe

~~~

Alfred greets him like an old friend, arms stretched wide as if he wants to embrace the whole world and a smile gleaming as warm as the first rays of sunshine on a winter's morning.

Something in the Hunter's chest stirs uncomfortably at this. It shortens his breath and makes his hands twitch. He blames the remains of that monstrosity's poison still coursing through his system and his ever-growing paranoia in a god-forsaken city like this one.

This man, while not harmless or without possible ulterior motives, does not wish to spill his blood and therefore is to be considered an ally for the time being.

 

It's a mantra he's told himself dozens of times when coming back to the rundown chapel to care for the other unfortunates sharing this horrible nightmare only to hear false accusations about beggars and ladies of the night and the subtle sniffling and crying of that old woman.

They're terrified, of course. The stench of fear clings so heavily to their clothes and skin that not even the sickly sweet smell of the incense can fully mask it. It's an intoxicating aroma to be sure and every time he returns the first drag of that mixture into his lungs makes his blood sing.

 

He has thought about it. When the day's worth of slaughter makes his skin prickle with streams of drying blood running down his face and his hands shake with excitement and arousal in equal measures. When even the eerie serenity of the Dream cannot calm his raging thirst for blood he's thought about it.

How easy would it be to kill them all then and there? Slice through their hot flesh, break open their bones, hold their hearts in his hand and feel the power with which they beat before he feasts on their corpses until he is finally satisfied.

 

There's a hand on his shoulder, a fiery brand he feels even through thick layers of leather, that chases away the image of a blood-soaked dress and the taste of viscera on his tongue and when he comes back to the present there are two green eyes watching him with honest worry.

 

“Are you alright, my friend? For a moment there you were very far away.”

 

Alfred takes a step towards him. Still enough distance to give the Hunter a way out if he wishes but close enough that he can feel the warmth of the other man's breath washing over his mask.

His stomach lurches as if he's falling down that damned church tower again and suddenly he is the one terrified that at the end of this horrible journey nothing of himself will remain but a soulless husk with its sanity in shambles.

The urge to be enclosed in this man's warm embrace, to bury his face into his neck and be told that if he just remains strong for a little while longer everything will sort itself out, is overwhelmingly powerful and the Hunter nearly buckles under its intensity.

 

It must all show on his face, as clothed as it is, for Alfred starts to gently guide him towards the overgrown railing until he has to take a seat lest he tumble over it.

 

“There you go. Just stay for a minute and take a breath. You are safe here, I promise.”

 

He manages a small nod. Hopes it conveys at least a fraction of the gratitude he feels and grips the cold stone beneath him hard enough to make the leather of his gloves creak.

 

Alfred squeezes his shoulder one last time before resuming his prayers for his lost comrades in front of that strange altar. His words are too low for the Hunter to hear properly but the deep timbre of the other man's voice soothes his frayed mind and soon he is enveloped in a blanket of tranquility.

 

For now the hunt will have to wait.

 


End file.
